Personal Sin
by alwaysaclaw11
Summary: Hermione Granger is a double agent for the modern-day Order of the Phoenix and the past Death Eaters - but she's got a problem. She's sleeping with the enemy.
1. His Little Secret

He liked power.

That's why he came back – every night. He came back for the power.

Hermione knew that. She wasn't stupid. It was the power he had over her that made him want her - _nothing more_.

_She wasn't stupid._

If only she had never let him in. Never let him touch her that very first time. She could have resisted.

Hermione gripped the edge of the vanity, staring into the dusty looking glass, unable to make out her true reflection.

But that wasn't it – that wasn't the part that crept inside of her like scorpions crawling through her veins, poisoning her. No. If that was all it was, Hermione could live with it. It was this that made her hate herself.

_She liked his power._

"The Dark Lord has arrived," she heard young Lucius Malfoy's cold voice say beyond her chamber doors. She laughed quietly – an empty laugh. Lucius Malfoy made his son look like a sweet, misunderstood kid.

_Don't come in here. __**Come in here**__. Please._

The door squealed open, making Hermione's stomach wrench. Tom Riddle stood rigid in the doorway, his newly red eyes glinting in the light. Everything else about him was still attractive, handsome. His chiseled chin, pale skin, thin pink lips.

Riddle shut the door.

Hermione's face flushed.

"Good evening, Miss Granger."

"Hey."

"Did you have a pleasant afternoon?" His elegant fingers caressed the midnight black comforter on the bed. The rustling fabric made her shiver.

"It was a blast." She rolled her eyes.

"You have a strange way of speaking." Slowly, he loosened the tie around his neck. Like a snake it slithered away from his collar, leaving his bruised neck exposed.

Bruises like grotesque yellow flowers.

"Someone finally get around to punching you in the throat?" she joked. A deflecting technique she learned from Ron never worked for long. Not with Tom Riddle.

"Magic comes at a price, my dear." He slipped out of his shirt, folding it neatly like he had all the time in the world.

_He thinks he does._

_Maybe he does._

"I'm sleeping in here tonight," he said coldly, paused, then glanced at Hermione like he was waiting for a response. "You may stay if you like."

What was she supposed to say to that? Yes. No. Where else would she go?

She simply nodded then returned to examining the mirror dust. A grey film. Like dementor's mist.

"Miss Granger, I require the book in front of you."

A leather spell book rested on the vanity, so old its skin felt soft, loose, like an old woman's. Hermione's heart beat quickened as she neared Riddle, the book stretched out to him. Their fingers touched, sparking. She swallowed hard.

"Very good, dear."

Hermione was a member of Ridddle's court for the good of everyone. A trip to the past meant to save lost friends. But what she did with Riddle – that was her own doing.

_A personal sin._

"I'm going to take a shower," she mumbled.

"What was that?" asked Riddle, looking up from his book.

"I'm going to take a shower."

"Very well, then. You don't need my permission."

"I wasn't asking for permission."

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze frozen, dead. In the past few months, she had come to know that look well. The conversation was over.

Without another word, Hermione walked the icy black wood floor into the bathroom. She slipped out of her clothes and left them in a messy pile near the door then turned on the hot water, letting it splash over her fingers until it grew hot enough to steam in the cold air.

Stretching, she stepped into the water, loving the warmth as it poured through her curls, down her neck and back. The scent of the rose shampoo she used filled the foggy space – an aroma pushing out the stress and the fear that was just part of her every day life.

Footsteps on the floor.

Brown eyes meeting red ones.

Hermione turned quickly, attempting to cover herself.

"False modesty does not suit you," said Riddle as he unbuckled his pants. Most days he still wore muggle clothes. His work at Borgin and Burkes sent him all through the nearby towns, requiring him to remain inconspicuous. But Hermione never saw the Tom Riddle he pretended to be out there. She only saw the Dark Lord he was in here.

Hermione opened her mouth to deliver a comeback but the words tangled in her throat. Riddle was right. She was nothing he had not seen before.

"What are you doing?" she asked instead.

"What does it look like?" Riddle stepped in the shower, his feet splashing in the small puddle of water gathering in the basin.

He ran his fingers over her shoulder and down her back. Hermione's eyes shut, trying to block out his touch. Instead, she just blocked everything else out.

"How is your research coming along, Miss Granger?"

She sighed. "It would come along faster if I could visit one of the wizarding libraries myself."

Riddle's arms constricted around Hermione's bare waist, his lips sucking on her neck. She trembled.

"You may go, but you must bring Bellatrix."

Hermione's teeth gritted together. "Anyone but her. She hates me."

Riddle turned Hermione around and shoved her against the cold tile wall, pressing his body against hers. Rage made him pulse with power. "If you would like to go - you will take Bellatrix. She is my most trusted servant."

"Only because she's in love with you," mumbled Hermione. Riddle grabbed her face, nails digging into her cheeks.

"Yet I am here with you – and _only_ you. Explain that?"

As Riddle ran his hand from her neck to her navel, making her head spin, Hermione replied, "You like that I challenge you, that I fight back," she whispered in his ear, "That I hate you."

"That's our little secret, isn't it, Miss Granger? Our hate."

Riddle's lips captured Hermione's. He bit down hard, making her wince. She gripped his hair, pulling violently. He lifted her legs around his bony waist, the water making his pale skin glisten. He shoved her painfully against the wall. She let out a small scream and he covered her mouth.

"You know I prefer you silent." Like a kind of magic, his icy voice lit her on fire.

Hermione bit the inside of his hand and he tugged away. "You know I don't care what you prefer," she said – but she did care what he liked. And she knew no matter what he said, he preferred her to fight him.

_That was his little secret._

**Thanks for reading. I've been in a writing frenzy recently. I really wanted to write a Tomione with a dark!Tom. I have a plan for a multi-chap fic with this but I'm not sure...Anyway, please review. I respond to everyone who does. Thanks again!**


	2. True Name

Hermione slept beside Tom Riddle that night. It was not the first time – not even close. But it wasn't an intimate experience. It was just as cold and lonely as it would have been if he simply took what he wanted and left her. Maybe even colder. Maybe even lonelier.

Sleep was hard to come by whenever Riddle was in her bed. On occasion, Riddle would wake her, his lips forming that hissing language that he and Harry spoke, as he navigated what Hermione imagined to be the darkest of nightmares.

When she awoke the next morning, Riddle was gone, as if he had never been there except for the red bruises on her neck she charmed away with her wand. She wasn't sure why she did it. All the Death Eaters knew about her relationship with Riddle. In any case, she felt safer without evidence of their sordid affair marked on her skin. Especially since she would be spending part of the day with Bellatrix Lestrange who wanted Riddle for herself.

The door to her bedroom opened without a knock. She knew immediately who it was. Only Riddle would invade her privacy without a second thought.

"Are you still interested in going to the library today?" he asked as he barged into her room, slamming the door behind him.

"Yes," replied Hermione.

"I've sent Bellatrix on a different mission. Time sensitive."

Hermione couldn't decide if she was relieved or annoyed. She didn't want to spend the day with a woman who would see her tortured and dead. Still, Hermione needed to find what the Order sent her back in time to find. A difficult task seeing as she wasn't quite sure what it was.

_You'll know it when you see it._

That was what Dumbledore told her. It was all he told her and she would be lying if she said she wasn't downright angry about that. In the meantime, she was doing what Riddle asked of her – researching an old wizarding secret society – though he was about as exact about what she was looking for as Dumbledore was.

She sighed. "I'll go a different day."

"No need. I shall be accompanying you."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You?"

"Yes," Riddle hissed, grabbing Hermione's chin. An unwelcome heat surged through her veins. "And I will not hear you complain about it. Understand?"

"Yes," she said, grimacing.

His eyes narrowed, hot and red like hellfire. He slammed her against the wooden wardrobe so hard it nearly toppled over. She gasped, loving and hating his ferocity at the same time.

"Yes, what?" Riddle snarled.

She gritted her teeth together. Hermione hated saying it, the words that left a bitter taste in her mouth and a tingling feeling the pit of her stomach. "Yes, my Lord."

He bit her ear so hard a tear formed at the corner of her eye. "Good girl."

A storm brewed in the air, creating a heavy mist in the sky. Hermione tightened the coat around her body as she walked beside Riddle down the busy London street. There was a private library near the Leaky Cauldron that only ministry official's used – but apparently Riddle had placed the librarian under the imperious curse so he and his Death Eaters, and now Hermione, could come and go as they pleased.

The inside of the library was dimly lit, piled with old books and smelled something like Professor Snape's potion store room. A twinge of loneliness pricked at her insides. She hadn't been back to her own time in weeks. She was due for a visit. Surely the Order had more to tell her and she would need to report on what she'd been doing for Riddle.

Well not everything she'd been doing for Riddle.

"I need the ancient historical section," she whispered as per library rules. "Are you going to wait here or are you going to follow me?"

Riddle leaned over her shoulder, his fingers digging into her back. "I came to keep an eye on you and that's what I intend on doing."

Hermione nodded, then swallowed as she headed to the far back corner where a wooden sign hanging from the ceilings read "Ancient Texts." Riddle stayed at her side.

She turned the corner into the dark, secluded section of the library. A strange power pulsed from the pages – an electricity she could feel in her bones. Her eyes lit with all she could discover within these texts. Hermione bit back a smile as she glanced down at the words on torn piece of parchment she brought with her.

_The Origin of Mysteries by Merlin_

Hermione breathed out a long breath. Could a text written by one of greatest wizards of all time be within touching distance? Hermione ran her fingers along the old binding, her eyes searching the small letters for – and there it was. A thick book wrapped in torn leather.

She nearly screamed. A cold hand was on the back of her neck, another on her hip. Her body held immobile. A quick tongue licked behind her ear as an unintelligible word was hissed.

"Riddle – are you crazy? This is a library," she whispered as his breath steamed, dampening the tiny curls at the nape of her neck from her pulled back hair.

"What's the worst that could happen." Riddle ran his wand down Hermione's neck, over her tight sweater and around the curve of her hip.

"For starters we could get caught-" she started to protest, but her face was pressed against the spines of old spell books, his hard body flush against her back.

"If you want me to stop, say 'I don't want you, My Lord.'" His hands were at the bottom edge of her skirt as he slowly pushed the fabric up her thighs. She knew it was crazy. Knew she should stop him, but her heart beat too quickly, her mind fuzzy with want.

"That's what I thought," Riddle growled, a sound that terrified and intrigued her. Confused her mostly.

Hermione shivered as she heard his zipper.

"We're going to get caught," she whispered. Riddle fingers rubbed the sides of her legs, numbness spreading out from his touch.

"I won't have to fight you to be silent today, will I?"

Hermione's mouth fell open as she took in slow breaths. "No."

He pressed painfully close to her. "No _what_?" he snarled.

They were in a library for goodness sakes – she couldn't just - he wanted her to beg. To act like he was her master. Just because they were sleeping together- that did not mean he could control her. Riddle needed to know that.

"Leave me alone," she snapped. Hermione felt his heat pull away from her, his dizzying, intoxicating touch abandon her now aching body.

"As you wish," he said coldly, grabbing the book they'd come for off the shelf and slamming it on the table. Hermione jumped. "Finish your research. You have fifteen minutes and we're leaving."

Hermione stood there, breathing heavily, as she pushed her skirt back down to her knees.

_Horrible bastard._

In the time constraint that Riddle had given her, all Hermione could find out about the secret society (that was so secret no one knew its name) was that Merlin had started it, and it was not related to the muggle myth of the Round Table.

Hermione was walking back to her room after grabbing a bite to eat from the kitchen. She stopped around a corner when she heard Riddle's smooth voice.

"You did well, Bellatrix," hissed Riddle as Bellatrix kneeled before him, the dim light from the hallway washing over their faces.

Her black eyes stared upwards. "How well, my Lord?" She looked so weak, so small, at Riddle's feet. It made Hermione sick.

Riddle sneered, his features icy cold. "Don't beg for a compliment, Bellatrix."

"I wasn't, my Lord. I just wanted to make certain I was serving you as well as you liked." She scooted closer to him. Hermione gripped her wand but didn't quite know why.

"Well, yes-" he said, looking uncomfortable. Hermione could no longer stifle it. She let out a small laugh. The mirthless glares of both Riddle and Bellatrix shot to her.

"Stupid mudblood-"spat Bellatrix, standing, her hand wrapped around her wand.

Riddle's eyes stared unwaveringly into Hermione's as he spoke, making her hands sweat. "Bellatrix enough. I will deal with the mudblood. Return to your chambers, now."

Hermione cringed at the word mudblood on Riddle's lips. The same lips that left kisses and bites all over her skin.

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix bowed and scurried off. Hermione and Riddle stayed in the hallway, both with their wands out, staring at each other with the kind of intensity that could burn a city to the ground.

As quickly as she could, Hermione headed back to her bedroom. Riddle was steps behind her.

"Can you save the lecture?" snapped Hermione as she stormed to the window, looking out the glass to the small moonlit wood.

"You will respect Bellatrix as one of my servants, do you understand?" Riddle snarled, grabbing Hermione's arm and pulling her back to face him.

"You don't respect her!"

Riddle's eyes narrowed as he leaned in whisky and toothpaste on his breath. Like usual. "Of course I -"

"Riddle, you can't stand her."

He latched onto her other arm, his face contorted in feral rage. "Don't call me by my filthy muggle father's name."

Surprise and confusion washed over Hermione. Enough of it to change the tone of her voice. "I always call you Riddle," she said softly.

He let out a long breath through his nose. "Not tonight."

Hermione tore away from his grasp. "I think I'll decide what to call you."

"Sit down," he breathed, his left eye twitching slightly. Hermione held her ground. "I said sit down!" Riddle shouted so loudly it made her shudder. Deciding to pick her battles, she sat on the edge of the bed.

Hermione looked up at Riddle. There was something about him when he was angry. His cheeks flushed, his eyes flashed, his muscled tensed. Hermione couldn't feel her legs he looked so powerful, wanton.

"If you think she's so much better than me. Go to her. I'm sure she'd be happy to service you in more ways than one," said Hermione under her breath.

"Maybe I will," spat Riddle.

Hermione tried to pretend a pang of jealousy didn't shoot through her... it couldn't have... what did she care who Riddle had sex with. "I'm not stopping you."

With a wild snarl, Riddle rushed to the door, his hand about to grab the brass handle. Then he turned, his piercing gaze cutting through Hermione. "I don't want her."

"Why not?" asked Hermione. As she thought about it, it was a perfectly valid question. Bellatrix was a rich, beautiful pure-blood who worshipped the ground he walked on.

He stood straight, calm, cool, once again. "There's no satisfaction in riding an already trained horse. I like to subdue them myself."

Even though she could feel the terror thrumming through her, she held her gaze and said, "I'm a person, Riddle. Not a horse – and so is she."

Those long, elegant fingers curled into fists. "I said not to call me that name," he said it once in english and though Hermione did not speak the language she was sure he said it again in parseltongue. He drew his wand and a red light flashed from it. Hermione was ready for it and blocked the curse.

It was a frenzy of shooting lights and curses and shattering glass. Back and forth. Back and forth. Never so much as a simple hex getting through on either side. It was a stalemate until Hermione ducked instead of blocking a spell with her wand and sent a hex right at Riddle's face. He snarled as magic cut his lip. A trickle of blood oozed from the skin and dripped down his chin.

They stopped dueling.

Riddle stomped up to her looking strangely calm, the kind of calm that comes before a tornado rips everything beautiful from the earth. "You obnoxious, insufferable dirty little mudblood."

Hermione stepped closer to him, her whole body racked with hormones and adrenaline, all caused by the sweaty, wild man in front of her. "You insulting, delusional sociopathic half-blood."

Without time to breath or think, Riddle's mouth was on hers, his tongue buried in her mouth, making it hard to breathe. Frantically he worked at the buttons on her shirt and when he ran out of patience, gripped the fabric and tore the remaining buttons away, leaving her in nothing but a green lace bra. One, she suddenly remembered, he had many months ago given her. Riddle smirked running his fingers over the delicate fabric.

He kissed her neck as she worked his shirt off. Riddle threw her hard on to the bed, her head barely missing the headboard. His weight crushed on top of her, his tongue licking up her neck, as she reached down to push off his pants.

They'd done this enough times to have a bit of pattern, a give-and-take, a sordid dance. Her whole body craved his perfect touch. Every flick of his fingers, every bite of his teeth. The way he could hold himself above her without any effort at all.

She was blinking back her desire, trying to hold on as long as she could, never sure when it would happen again, though it seemed to be happening more and more frequently. The only time she could forget about the fear and the responsibility was during moments like this.

He moved, changing their position and Hermione couldn't help but gasp his name, "Riddle."

His movements stopped. "What did I say?" His nails gripped into her arm.

"I – I didn't- Come on." Hermione leaned in to kiss his neck and he pushed her back.

"Say my name," he whispered, his arm locked around the back of her neck, moving slowly, making everything spin.

"I did-" Hermione didn't understand what he wanted.

"My other name. My true name."

Hermione's heart skipped. She couldn't... he'd never. Maybe he'd settle for - "My Lord," she whispered.

Riddle pulled her in tighter, so much that it almost hurt, but it didn't. It felt incredible – perfect – _insane. _"That's not what I meant. Face what you're doing and who you're doing it with. Say my name." His tongue darted inside her ear with the quickness of a snake's. "When you call out my name, I want you to say it. Lord Voldemort."

She twitched at the sound of the name, her insides becoming thick and toxic. She couldn't. He wouldn't make her.

"I can't."

Riddle gripped Hermione's shoulder and pushed them apart. He stood from the bed, leaving her there alone and gasping for air, as he stormed away and slammed the bathroom door.

**Thanks for reading. Please review! I know some things are off with the time as in Bellatrix and Lucius would be much younger if Tom is still young - though in this story is Hermione is twenty and Riddle twenty-eight. Thanks for all the favorites and follows and reviews.**


	3. Beautiful Monster

That night Riddle was in the bathroom for a few minutes then Hermione heard the crack of disappartion. He couldn't even walk back through the room. Riddle was that mad at her. With a groan, Hermione slipped under the covers, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep and forget the night.

"Nox," she sighed, turning off the lights. Hermione pressed her head into the pillow that still smelled of Riddle and of sex. She could still feel his touches on her skin. It took some time but eventually she drifted to sleep, the glow of his red eyes burning in her mind.

The next morning she awoke and got dressed for the day. She left her bedroom and was glad when Riddle was nowhere to be found. He was the last person she wanted to see. A house elf made Hermione some breakfast and she headed outside to sit under the dead tree in the grounds behind the house. Riddle had given her an old book to translate from ancient runes for him – so she figured she'd get some of that done. Maybe she'd find that thing Dumbledore sent her for and she'd finally get out of this place for good.

She leaned against the old bark, her fingers wrapped around a quill as she translated the words.

_The magic required for this series of spells is some of the most difficult magic known to wizarding kind. It is both highly dangerous and highly complicated. One missed step could have catastrophic and possibly life threatening results._

Hermione blinked. The words were all starting to blur together. The ancient runes in this particular document were small, difficult to read. And her hand was cramping. She sighed as she pulled a heavy silver coin out of her pocket like she did several times a day. It was like the one she had invented for Dumbledore's Army several years back. Whenever the Order needed her to come back to her time, a phoenix with spread wings would appear on the coin.

She flipped the cold metal in her fingers. It was as blank and smooth as usual. Hermione was starting to worry. If she didn't hear from them in a few days, she would return on her own just to make sure everyone was alright.

With a deep breath and deep longing to return home, Hermione slipped the coin back in her pocket and looked out over the rolling grounds, breathing in the fresh air. It was nice to be outside. Better than being trapped in that small bedroom of hers.

Picking up the ancient text and her scroll of parchment, Hermione started translating again.

_To make the first potion combine 3 bat wings, 2 frogs, diced neatly, and one quart of dragon's blood. Heat on high for several hours. _

Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon writing down the directions to these ancient potions, her mind, on occasion wandering, to thoughts of cold hands against her skin. Parseltongue whispered gruffly across her lips. Teeth biting on her skin. Her hand running through soft hair, making him groan.

With the quill still in her hand, Hermione drifted into an afternoon nap under that dead tree. She was pulled out of reality, into dreams, into the world inside herself.

The clothes and the hairstyles told Hermione she was back in her own time. The comforting smell of food in the Great Hall wafted through the hallways. She wasn't sure where she was going, but she was going somewhere – following something – a feeling – a want – a need. Something dragged her forward.

She turned a corner and recognized it as the door to the potion's classroom but when she opened the door it did not lead the familiar place where Professor Snape would stand before the class, glaring down his nose. It lead to a dark, empty room. No light. No scent. Like standing in nothingness, floating in space.

A cold hand clamped over her mouth. Hermione tried to scream but she coudln't. The hand dropped away from her lips and she tried to scream again but her voice was gone, torn away from her. Dry lips kissed behind her ear. A familiar voice whispered in parseltongue, sending familiar tingles through her body. Every inch of her body lit with the power of his presence.

She turned around, expecting to see Riddle but she was alone.

"Hello!" she called out, realizing her voice had returned. "Who's there?"

Riddle materialized from the black mist. That sweeping gait, those sultry eyes, that perfect curve of his jaw. Her heart thrummed. She hated how much she desired him. How incredible he made her feel.

"You want me, Miss Granger," he whispered. "I know you do."

Riddle's traced his fingers in circles on her neck. He leaned down and licked her skin then blew a cold breath over his touch, sending shivers down her spine. Making her come apart – like shattered glass.

"Tell me you want me."

_I hate you. I want you. I need you. I hate and want and need you. Now._

"I-"

"No." Riddle cut her off, his eyes exploding with color, with venomous red. "Show me."

Her fingers traced down his chest, trembling at his firm muscles. She held her breath as her fingers caught on the waistband of his trousers. Something overtook her. Something from the dream, from the inability to make rational decisions – from the part of herself that was pure, unbridled desire. She lowered to her knees. Sweating. Shaking. Falling to pieces. Like shattered glass again. Always shattered.

"Yes, My Lord," she breathed. She looked up. She screamed.

Riddle's handsome, seductive features were gone. It was no longer him. She knelt before a man with skin pale as bone, sunken red eyes, the horrible face of a snake. Of a monster.

She screamed again.

Hermione jolted from the tree, knocking over her books, spilling ink onto the grass. Breathing heavily, she ran her fingers over her face, trying to collect herself. She blinked and blinked and thought about the blades of grass, the pattern of the bark. Anything but her dream. Anything but the terrible face of that monster.

"Is everything alright, miss?" asked the squeaky voice of a house elf.

Hermione breathed out a long sigh, her body still shaking from the dream. "I'm fine. Thank you." She gathered up her things and stood, dusting the stray bits of grass off her skirt. "What time is it?"

"Nearly six," said the house elf.

How could she have been asleep so long? The dream felt so short – vivid, horrifying – but short. Doing her best to put it out of her mind, Hermione followed the house elf back inside.

When Hermione stepped into her bedroom, she found a long black box sitting on the bed. She shut the door and made her way across the floor to peel back the lid.

It was red velvet with a black velvet box on top. She opened the box. Her heart caught in her chest. She'd never seen anything like it. Shining, twisted gold adorned with thick diamonds that cast a remarkable glitter. She sat the box down. Touched the velvet, slipping it from the box, letting the structured bodice, thin straps and wide, bursting skirt expand like a blossom. There were shoes too. Black heels. And a note. Her fingers shook as she read the parchment. She wanted to wonder who – but she wasn't stupid – she knew.

_Miss Granger,_

_Please wear these items to the Ministry Gala at eight this evening. I will meet you there._

_Cordially,_

_Thomas M. Riddle Jr._

Hermione bit back a smile and a frown at the same time. There was a strange, uncertain formality in his letter. A detachment but that was nothing new. Also – the way he signed it. She whistled out a long breath. _Thomas M. Riddle Jr. _It was the closest she would ever get to an apology. And turning down a trip to the Ministry would be stupid. Other people, non-Death Eater people, would be there. Maybe even some she knew. McGonagall, Dumbledore, Slughorn – not that any of them would know her.

So she dressed in the dress and the necklace and the shoes. With a spell she curled her hair and she put on her makeup and she looked in the mirror. It was beautiful dress and lovely necklace. Hermione did not want to think how Riddle had gotten them.

With Lucius Malfoy she disapparated to the Ministry. He looked utterly appalled at having to be seen even for the briefest moment with someone like her. It didn't bother her though, not anymore, because she didn't want to be seen with him either. A racist and a coward.

He abandoned her as soon as they were inside the ballroom and for that she was grateful.

By herself, Hermione made her way through the thick crowd wearing beautiful dresses or expensive-looking dress robes. Everything was shimmery and silver and floating. Even the fountains sparkled with metallic flecks.

She felt like a drink so she headed to the bar in the corner of the room.

"Red wine, miss?" asked the house elf who was tending the bar.

Hermione shook her head. "Firewhisky."

"Yes, miss." The little house elf snapped his fingers and the bottle poured into the glass. Hermione had always been impressed by house elf magic. Simple. Elemental.

"Thank you very much," she said, picking up the glass and taking a drink. When she turned, her stomach jolted like she'd swallowed a storm cloud.

Riddle had arrived. Smiling. Shaking hands. Playing a part. His part. Keeping the trust of the people he needed to further his cause. He had a deep laugh and she could tell it was not sincere but that was only because she knew him. His eyes met hers. She swallowed, staring back.

"Excuse me," he said to the man beside him who was talking and talking and it was apparent Riddle was not listening. He made his slow, painstaking way to Hermione, looking perfect in night black dress robes, a white shirt and white bow-tie. He was the most elegant, indulgent thing she'd ever seen.

He took her hand, his touch igniting her. His normally red eyes were blue again. How he could change appearance like that she didn't know... but she wished he did it more often. He had blueberry eyes – sweet and tender and it made her hate his red ones.

"Good evening, Miss," he hissed, bringing her hands to his lips. "I'm surprised we've never met."

_What?_

Her brow furrowed. She stared back at him. His fingers ran up her arm, dancing like spiders across her skin, ticking her hairs. Hermione moved her tongue, trying to wet her dry mouth.

"I just spoke to your husband. He's over there – he's not watching."

"My what?" her voice cracked. "Are you alright?"

His laugh was cold and leaned his mouth against Hermione's ear. "If you don't want to be us, let's be other people." His teeth grazed her ear and she swore he was going bite her, tear her to pieces. He was always tearing her to pieces. If only she didn't want it so much...

Maybe he was right. Maybe pretending was a good idea...

"You're Tom Riddle, are you not? I've heard so much about you."

"Good things, I hope." He smirked.

Hermione bit her lip, feeling awkward, feeling turned-on. "Almost none of them."

His tongue darted out and licked his lips. Her eyes locked on his swift, trained movements. "Just rumors, my dear lady."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, taking a drink for courage. "Well, some of the things, I've heard from the women. Are those rumors too?"

Riddle showed off his perfect, striking set of the teeth. "Only one way to find out..." he said a word in Parseltongue – one she'd heard before and never asked him about – but she believed it was her name.

"Oh, Mr. Riddle. I'm a married woman."

He pressed his muscled body against her back. "You'll find I don't care much about that."

She shivered at the sound of compelling, possessive voice. A voice that could command so many with perfect, flawless ease.

Her lips shook. "But my husband."

His fingers traced gently down her spine like he loved to feel her bones. "He's nothing compared to me."

There was a long pause. They were in public. At the Ministry. What did she care anymore? "Prove it."

His lips stretched into a devious smile. A delicious smile. "Follow me." Hermione slipped her arm in his, leaving her glass on table. Her heart slammed against her walls, her head, everywhere. Impossible to resist. That was what he was. Impossible. Impossible.

Ridle took her outside.

There were only a few people out there, walking together, under the hanging stars, the stars grasping to the dark evening, hanging on for life. The wind swirled fallen leaves, played with them like a child in the dirt. A large oak stood stalwart just in front of them. Glancing around, Riddle removed his wand and began to chant a sweeping incantation that played across his mouth like poetry, like a song, like his own personal hymn. Hermione recognized what he was doing. Protection spells. They made you invisible to see. Impossible to hear. You could see out – the world could not see in. To them you did not exist.

Hermione stood there by the tree in Riddle's own little protection.

"Now no will find us. Even if you scream." Riddle growled in her ear.

She shut her eyes. "Should I be afraid?"

With a predatory gaze, he backed her up against the tree. His hands gripped her waist so hard she swore he'd leave fingerprint bruises. Breathes came from his mouth, heavy, forceful. "What do you think your husband would think of what I'm about to do to you?"

Hermione swallowed, her body aching, pounding with attraction, with desire, with a rush of need. "Just do it – or don't."

And he was attacking her. His lips. His hands. His whole body. A weapon against her. Everything with Riddle was an attack, a battle. She wanted to hate it, past her skin and her muscle and her sinew – all the way to the bone - she wanted to hate his frantic, almost rabid, touches but she didn't. Merlin, she didn't. Because she was attacking back. Her lips. Her hands. Her whole body.

The wind was kicking up around them, fierce and lost, sweeping and cold against her skin. She felt battered, struck, in more ways than one, but a complaint would not find its way up her throat and out her mouth. Not with his fingers running across her velvet draped skin, not with with tongue and teeth assaulting her neck. They were at war. A beautiful, lethal war.

Tom grabbed the thick skirt of her dress and began pushing it up her legs, past her thigh-high stockings. She bit her lip. The quickness, slowed, slowed, slowed down until Tom was nearly at a stop, tracing his finger up the insides of her thighs. A delicate torture with no end in sight.

Her fingers gripped his hair, tore at the feathery strands, causing him to growl. Bright blue eyes lifted to her, brimming, bursting, bleeding with life – like a sky cut-open. Falling in on her. Why was he being so slow? Taking his time? He'd never behaved that way before – you didn't slow down in war. You kept marching, you kept running from trench to trench. You never slowed down. Did he know it hurt her? The thoughtful movements of his cold fingers against her hot, hot skin. His icy tongue drawing slow frozen circles on the inside of her upper thigh – so close to her.

He stood, his hands following the curve of her body. Once again they were face to face. Her dress still pushed up to her waist. Those elegant fingers twisted with her own pulled her hand to him – to_ him. _To the zipper on his pants. And the dream came back like a lightning bolt shooting through her mind, exploding her brain, as she pulled down.

Hermione sucked in air and it burned her lungs. It was cold but it burned. Just like Riddle.

Before she could run or fall apart or die or burst into flames, Riddle's mouth overtook hers but not in the wild way it normally did. His movements were smooth, fluid like a current moving against her. Salty and sweet. She could smell the ocean – breath it in – because it was oozing from his pores, from his kiss. Endless, ancient and all around her. Consuming. She was drowning and it felt good. The water filling up her lungs, pushing out the air. Why did it feel good? Why did it have to feel like _that_? Like he cared or wanted to care? Like he was capable of care?

And that was the real threat. Not the monster. Not facing the truth of what she was doing and who she was doing it with. The real threat was losing sight of the monster. Letting him hide in a closet until he came out and killed everyone.

Hermione pulled away from his kiss, forcing herself to look at the light stubble painting his jaw, the one-raised eyebrow, the swollen pink lips, the beautiful, beautiful man in front of her. He was Voldemort. Bones – and snakes – and bloody fingers.

Fighting to catch her breath, she looked him in the eye, handcuffed him with her gaze. "Lord Voldemort," she said. His jaw clenched, his eyes flashed. A swell of pride kicked around inside her. Because it wasn't _what _she said. It was _how _she said it. She said it not with awe, or fear, or intrigue, not with desire, or with giving-in. It wasn't like that – and Riddle knew it.

It was a conviction. The slam of judge's gavel. The clinking shut of prison bars. A tearing open. A revelation.

He could not hide from her. And now he knew it.

It was slow. She wished it hadn't been slow. With Riddle fast was always better because it was worse, it had no substance, no heartbeat. It was pure physical nature. But slow, eyes locked, it made her question, made her think. Once again they were challenging each other. If she would know him completely, not fear or be burdened by his name or nature, then he would know her too... even if it took forever, as it seemed it might.

When they were finally together, she held her breath as he kissed her lips, licking the bottom one. He pushed the straps of her dress far enough down her shoulders so he could work his trail of icicle kisses down her neck and her chest. She clawed at his shirt. Wanting him closer. Wanting him further away. Because Riddle was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Hermione couldn't take it any longer. "Faster. I need – faster."

Riddle breathed into her ear. "As you wish, Miss Granger."

There it was. Furious – electric – with a beat and a rhythm. An angry rhythm. The battle raged again. The fight. The fire. Incoherent words and curses. Her head smacking against the tree, bark scratching into her skull. Screams leaking from her lips, stifled. The pain. The not-pain. It was just simply Riddle. He was a thousand gun shots. An automatic machine-gun. Powerful, merciless. No end in sight.

He shouted her name. Not 'Miss Granger' but Hermione. Shouted it so loud her ears cracked like raw eggs. Riddle had never done that before. Never let loose like that. She said nothing. Just let that _feeling_ ripple through her like she was a stone dropped in lake, sinking into the euphoric, dizzying sensation she wasn't sure she could live without.

Once again – slowly, slowly, slowly he slipped away from her. He backed away, taking her in from a distance, the bottom half of her body still exposed to the black fingers of the night air. "You should return to your husband," he sneered and walked away, hands in his pockets.

A beautiful monster.

**Thanks for reading. So a bit of role play - a bit of dream Riddle - a bit of Hermione finding new ways to undermine Tom. Hope you liked it! Thanks for all the favorites and follows and review. I appreciate it. Please take the time to review if you can. **


	4. His Intimate Misery

Riddle's hands were on Hermione's waist. Lips on her neck. She straddled his lap.

"This is probably – not – the – best – place – for-" Hermione forced out between heavy breaths.

"You think my death eaters are going to scold me if they catch us." His breath blew hot, fiery, against her neck. She roughly grabbed his face and slammed their lips together.

He tasted different tonight. For one, there was no alcohol on his breath. His tongue tasted of white chocolate, of raspberries, of sweet vanilla. Hermione didn't know why – where he had been – or what he had done. All she knew was that when he returned from work, Riddle had grabbed her and kissed her with reckless abandon.

It was usually a fight to be on top of him. But today, he had been the one to pull her down across his lap. They were still fully clothed but kissing and touching everywhere they could reach. Occasionally, he would run his tongue up her neck and she would lean her head back and let him. Just let him do whatever until she could forget. Drown in his intimate misery.

It had been weeks. She'd considered traveling to the future without being summoned by the Order but she was worried that there was a reason they were keeping her there. And she didn't want to jeopardize the mission. Still she was lonely – she missed home – she missed friends and though Riddle was no friend, he was still there.

Flesh and lips and muscles. There and everywhere.

"Miss Granger?" Riddle whispered, the gruff sound sending warm shivers through her body.

"Hm-" Her fingers traveled down the buttons of his shirt, exposing his sinewy chest, kicking up the scent of his cologne. A dark, spiced scent that made the world tumble over itself. Trip until it broke its legs and spilled out the ocean's like blood.

"I need you to come with me tomorrow."

"Where?" Hermione's mouth fiercely met Riddle's, her tongue pushing into his mouth. He ended the kiss.

"On an appointment," he replied harshly, gripping his nails into her back.

"With who?" Hermione snarled into his ear, biting down on the top corner.

Riddle grabbed her neck and yanked her head to face him. She gasped. Sometimes she'd forget how strong he was. "Don't bite me." His voice was cold, commanding.

"You love it." Hermione bent down to nip his neck but his firm grip stopped her from moving and sent a jolt of pain through her body. His hand covered her mouth.

"Stop," he breathed. "Now. Miss Granger."

Hermione breathed out a long breath. "Fine."

"You'll come with me tomorrow."

She grabbed the collar of his shirt and tugged on it. Those handsome features of his twisted into a sneer.

"Not until you tell me where we are going," she spat.

Hermione honestly did not know he how did it. He had to be using magic though she didn't see him grab his wand. But, in a less than a blink, her blue skirt was flipped out around her, his pants around his ankles.

And they were...

"Riddle!" she shouted. "What the hell!"

"Come with me tomorrow."

"Where are we going?"

Riddle leaned in and bit her ear just like she had bit his. She shoved him back.

"You'll find out when we get there," he hissed.

"I don't like surprises."

"Oh yes. Of course. Miss Granger must control everything." His hand was in her hair, pulling so hard it hurt – but she wasn't asking him to stop because there was something about just the right amount of pain that kept her from losing her mind when she was with Riddle.

"You're – one – to – talk." Hermione forced out during the moments his lips weren't beating against her lips. Hermione's eyes shut. _Not again. Why does he have to do this? _Riddle hand was gently on her back, tracing soft curved designs over the silk fabric of her blouse. Gentle. Smooth. Erotic.

"Oh, my dear, you do so love our game, don't you?"

Hermione opened her mouth to protest but Riddle laid a finger across her mouth, silencing her with his touch and with the burning gaze of his solidly red eyes. In that moment, she was deeply thankful they were not the blue they had been at Ministry event.

"Don't pretend for my sake. I know you too well. You're not _all _good. We both know that. Otherwise, we wouldn't be here. You wouldn't let me do this to you."

"Riddle," she growled, anger a vicious venom pouring through her veins, scalding her with heat and toxin. Hermione tore away from Riddle, nearly tripping into the kitchen counter. "You bastard."

His head titled back as he looked at Hermione. "Don't act so self righteous, Miss Granger. You knew what I was – that I was a _snake_ – the very first day we met."

Hermione let out a long breath as she stared at Riddle. He was right – she knew. She'd always known just what he was, but it didn't matter. It didn't stop her from wanting him more than she'd ever wanted anyone or anything in her life.

The first time she met Tom Riddle. She didn't know who he was. It was summer. Blistering hot. He was sitting on a bus bench, a newspaper splayed across his lap. He had a pencil in his hand and he scribbled frantically on the page.

"May I sit here?" Hermione asked the man she did not recognize. How could she? She'd never met or seen a picture of Tom Riddle. Hermione had agreed to go back in time on Dumbledore's orders. She was to meet with Regulus Black at a muggle cafe a few blocks from the Leaky Cauldron and discuss it. All she knew was that he was the one who could help her infiltrate the Death Eaters. Help her discover whatever secret Dumbledore needed to fight Lord Voldemort so many decades later.

"Do as you wish," he breathed not looking up from his paper.

"Lovely day, isn't it?" Hermione asked, her hands folded in her lap. The world ticking around her was so different from the one she'd known. The sights, sounds, smells – it would all take time to get used to.

"It's hot. Unbearably so. If you need to make small talk, can you please do it somewhere else?"

Hermione pursed her lips together. "Anyone ever tell you you're a jackass?"

"People don't usually speak to me that way."

The bus pulled up and Hermione stood from the bench, twisting around in her heels. Still not comfortable in them but working on it. "My name is Hermione Granger and _I do_."

She tried to turn away from him but his cold hand gripped her arm. "You're Hermione Granger?"

"You know me?"

"Regulus says you can help me with my problem."

"You are?"

"Tom Riddle."

Hermione's heart nearly stopped. Could it really be? The man in front of her right now was the infamous, the evil, the terrible murdering Lord Voldemort. But he was so. His eyes as blue as a bruise, his skin fair and his features strong, thoughtful. Deceptively kind.

Her hand twitched toward her wand. She had to fight the urge not to try to kill him right here. End it all. But Dumbledore had warned her that under no circumstances should she kill Tom Riddle.

"I assume my reputation proceeds me and you would like to apologize for your comment earlier." He leaned in. The first time Hermione had smelled that whisky and mint combination that was so entirely Riddle. "I won't hold it against you."

"There is no chance that I will ever apologize to you."

"Yet you want to work for me?"

"I don't want to – I have to."

"Now how did Regulus manage to ensnare such a pretty young thing in our _dark _work?"

Hermione pressed her lips together, narrowed her eyes, employed occulamency and said the lie she'd been given. The one she'd been practicing. "Regulus saved my life. He asked me for a favor. I made the unbreakable vow."

A sly, menacing grin crossed that devilishly handsome face. "And you are what I seek? You can find what I require?"

Hermione stepped forward, pulling away from his grip. "I am the only one who can."

"Then, Miss Granger, welcome to the Death Eaters."

**Thanks for reading. This chapter was a bit shorter but I'm going to do some flashbacks and some Hermione returning to the future in the next chapters so they'll be pretty connected. If you get a chance, please leave a review. Thanks for all the favs and follows. Hope you enjoyed more Tom and Hermione!**


	5. Two Riddles

Hermione stared down at the Order coin in the palm of her hand, willing the phoenix to appear emblazoned on the metallic surface.

If she didn't get a break from Tom Riddle soon, she would absolutely lose it. Besides, she needed to convince Dumbledore to give her more information on what she was looking for. If she didn't come up with something soon – it was Riddle that was going to lose it and she didn't want to think what that meant for her. However, Hermione had devised that whatever Riddle sought Dumbledore did as well. It was just a matter of keeping it from the former and giving it to the latter. Whatever it was.

Hermione stood up from the chair by the window in her bedroom and poured herself a glass of firewhiskey. She took a sip and let the bitter liquid sting her lips and burn her throat. A good, solid pain that kept her gravity bound. Her mind surprisingly focused. She grabbed the old book Tom was having her translate from ancient runes, planning on getting some work done before heading to bed. As her fingers wrapped around the old leather binding, the coin slipped from her grasp, clattered on the hardwood floor and rolled under the vanity.

"Dang it," said Hermione, sighing and getting on the floor. She squeezed her hand underneath the curved wood, digging around for the coin. The metal slid cold against her fingers and she pressed her thumb on the coin to pull it out. But there was something else there. Some parchment. Hermione tugged on the pages but they didn't budge. With her other hand she reached into the pocket of her robes, removing her wand.

Hermione cast an anti-sticking charm and the parchment thudded the few inches to the floor, raising a puff of dust. She pulled the old parchment out from under the vanity. As she wiped the grey filth away, words appeared on the parchment.

_Miss Granger,_

_Sorry we have been unable to accommodate a return to your own time. Things here are rather difficult at present. I'm glad to see the enchantment on the coin is functioning properly and it was able to lead you to this message. I'm sure you would like clearer instructions on what you are looking for – I'm sorry I can't provide this. Just keep doing what Voldemort asks and have patience. _

_Yours,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_P.S. Not all books are in the library_

Hermione groaned, reading that last line over again. _Not all books are in the library. _Exactly what she did not need. More Riddles.

She tossed the pages into the trash can. "Incendio," she said pointing her wand, the words Dumbledore sent crumbling to ash as the fire burned out. It wasn't safe to keep the parchment. Tom could find it and she'd be dead just as soon as he read the last words. But Hermione remembered what it said.

Nothing.

That's what it said. Hermione flopped down on the bed, brimming with frustration. This mission took a much larger toll on her than she thought it would. Loneliness battling with lust and hatred with obsession. Her insides felt like they were being ripped apart and Dumbledore couldn't even help. Couldn't even give her a hint!

Maybe he did. If she wanted to look at it. Wanted to try. That last line. That sort-of riddle. If she wanted to search for it maybe it could provide some answers. Hermione was tired, exhausted really. She missed her friends. She missed being able to go wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted. When Hermione really thought about it though, there was only one way back and she knew what it was. Trying.

Discovering what Dumbledore sent her to discover. Keeping the information from Tom Riddle and giving it to the Order. Then she could go home and she'd never ever have to see Riddle again.

She'd never have to listen to his dark voice. His insults. She would never have to feel his lips against hers or his hand in her hair. Or watch him sleep beside her. No. She'd never have to do any of that again. And that time couldn't come faster, could it?

Hermione wouldn't miss Riddle. Not at all.

That's what she told herself. She said it over and over and over. Because if she didn't she would drown. Accepting that she liked at least some parts of her relationship with Lord Voldemort... that was too much to live with. No it was time. She had to leave. And she'd start with that throw-away riddle.

_Not all books come from libraries._

Hermione closed her eyes, laying her head back on the pillow, trying to think of what that line could mean.

If a book didn't come from a library... it came from... a bookstore? That was all she could think of but Hermione had been to all the wizarding bookstores in Britain. She'd searched Flourish and Botts and Borgin and Burkes over a hundred times. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

There were books a person owned themselves but that counted as a personal library.

Hermione yawned as she thought, blink, blink, blinking through the ideas. Exhaustion crept its heavy dark hand over her eyes. She kept thinking and going around in circles and coming up with nothing. She fell asleep that night, fully dressed and on top of the covers.

BREAK

It was a few weeks after she had first come to stay with the Death Eaters. She, Regulus and Riddle all agreed to keep her blood status a secret while she was staying with them. That lasted about five days.

Two days after she met Bellatrix (well, in this time).

Hermione thought it must have been the way she saw Riddle looking at her. She had noticed it too. Eyes narrowed, brightly focused whenever she would enter the room, Riddle looked nearly nowhere else than right at her. At first Hermione figured that it was because he was wary of having her around when she was both a muggle-born and not truly a Death Eater. It wasn't long before she figured out it wasn't that at all. He wanted something very different from her than devotion or servitude. Something she wasn't sure something like him could possibly want. But it seemed he did.

_And that he was experienced._

Tom was about ten years older than her at this time. She could see tiny crows-feet starting to grow in the corners of his eyes. Though the skin around the edges of his lips, normally creased by laughter, remained smooth as glass.

Hermione found herself hungry one evening so she crept out of her room and down the hall to the kitchen. It was dark so she lit her wand to find her way.

Then Hermione felt a cold hand on her arm. She started to scream before another hand clasped over her mouth.

"No need to wake up the whole house," a voice whispered in her ear, chilling her neck.

"Riddle?" she shoved away from his grasp. The lanterns on the wall lit with a fury of smoke, revealing them both.

"You're up late," he said.

Hermione's eyes widened when she realized the scene in front of her. Tom Riddle in an open silk black robe and nothing else but boxers. "You should put some clothes on," she said as her cheeks burned.

"It's my house, Miss Granger."

She rolled her eyes, averting them away from the pale but lithe body in front of her. "It's technically Malfoy's house."

Riddle raised a slender eyebrow. "Is it now?"

"Well Malfoy sucks anyway."

"I'm hungry." Hermione crossed her arms, glaring at Riddle.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You're standing in front of the refrigerator."

His lips stretched into a icy smirk as he slid out of the way in his bare feet. Hermione swallowed, trying to ignore the strong curve of his jaw and the smoking glint in his eye. It had been so long since...

Since what? Since she'd touched someone, kissed someone, been with someone. Hermione breathed a long breath out between her lips. It was just another form of cabin fever. She found a piece of red velvet cake and removed it from the refrigerator, trying to get her mind on anything but Riddle.

"That's mine," said Riddle, his gaze indicating the piece of cake.

Annoyed at him for being, well, evil and for looking that stupidly handsome at the same time, she grabbed a fork from the drawer and took a huge bite out of the cake. "Damn good cake."

His teeth gritted together, Riddle stepped forward. "You're quite insolent for a mudblood."

Hermione had gotten used the term. She decided a long time ago that it didn't bother her. It wasn't like she cared what Tom Riddle thought of her. If he had an issue with her, then she was doing something right. "Call me mudblood all you want. You're not going to hurt my feeling?"

"I could hurt you."

"Hurt me or don't. But I'd rather not suffer your threats."

Riddle shook his head. "You're unbelievably irritating. I'm not sure your benefit outweighs that." He slid his wand from his pocket and Hermione's heart started to pound. He could obviously, easily, kill her. But she would not cower. Not ever.

"And to that I say. Kill me or don't."

There was a pause where he trapped her with his stare. "Don't."

Hermione scraped the last bite of cake off the plate and shoved it in her mouth. She turned to leave when Riddle grabbed her arm and slammed her against wall.

"Thought you weren't going to kill me," she sighed as fear course through her veins.

"I've got something much, much better planned for you, _pet_." He breathed in her ear, steamy and possessive, biting hard on her earlobe.

"Not if you were the last man on earth," she snarled but her sweating hands and pounding heart seemed to say something else.

"We'll see about that."

BREAK

When Hermione woke up, thankfully, Riddle was not there. Except a tiny hidden part of her wished he had been. She wished there was a way to get her mind off her life's troubles. Off her friends who were back in her own time being terrorized by the man she was sleeping with.

She grabbed the roots of her hair and pulled. There was no way out of the choices she'd made. If her friends were going to hate her for what she did with Riddle stopping now wouldn't stop their hate. And she needed it. Needed his touch, a kind of occulamency that had the power to push out all the pain, empty her out until she felt nothing.

Hermione shook her head. No one ever needed to find out what she was doing Riddle. A secret she had every intention on taking to the grave. Right now all that mattered was trying to get home. The best shot she had at that was figuring out the message that Dumbledore had sent her.

_Some books don't come from the library._

Or something like that.

Books. Books. Books.

She thought the words over and over in her head hoping that saying them enough would make something click.

Library. Library. Library.

Books. Books -

Book had more than one meaning though. It didn't just mean a physical paper item with information or fiction inside of it. Book was a verb that meant to schedule something. A book could be a particular record. A record. And you wouldn't find a record in the library.

Hermione's heart pounded, the excitement of discover burning through her skin. There was only one feeling superior that feeling of knowing something you didn't know before.

_Riddle's hand on her body, his lips against her skin._

But who kept records? The Ministry.

A sudden excitement bounding through her, Hermione tossed off her old clothes and threw on a pencil skirt and white blouse. She was in the hallway, tripping to put on her shoes when she realized she couldn't go out alone.

With a groan, she turned on her heel. She saw Bellatrix's dark eyes peering around the corner. Hermione didn't want to talk to her but she had to. "Is Regulus around?" she asked.

Bellatrix sneered. "How dare you speak to me, mudblood?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Regulus, is he here?"

Her cheeks burning red, Bellatrix snarled. "He left this morning with Lucius."

_Fantastic. _"Okay. Whatever." Hermione walked past Bellatrix. Maybe she could find somebody to go with her. Avery, maybe?

"Stay away from him," Bellatrix snapped.

Hermione whipped her head back to face her. "He's the one that comes looking for me."

"That's not true. You force yourself on him."

"Do you really think I could _force_ Lord Voldemort to do something?"

"You disgusting mudblood. Your unworthy lips dare speak his name?"

Hermione bit back a laugh. Her _unworthy lips. _Riddle didn't seem to find them unworthy.

"Crucio," shouted Bellatrix.

Hermione hadn't been ready for it. Her hand was nowhere near her wand. The red light slammed into her chest and pain exploded through her body. She screamed and smacked the floor. Every part of her was melting – on fire – tiny needles digging into her bones. Tears leaked from her eyes. She didn't mean to cry but she couldn't stop.

The pain left her. Bellatrix smashed against the wall and crumpled to the ground. Hermione clawed to get on her feet, still aching. She blinked, feeling dizzy. There had been so much hatred in that curse.

Strong arms wrapped around her, lifting her to her feet. Her eyes met red ones. Riddle had saved her? She knew it was because he needed her, but she didn't shy away from his touch, or the smell of his aftershave as he carried her to the one place she'd never been.

Riddle's bedroom.

It was different than she expected. Though Hermione wasn't quite sure what she thought it would be like. A dungeon maybe. A torture room with heads mounted on the wall, rugs made out of human skin and furniture constructed of bones. Okay – so maybe she did know what she thought it would be like it.

But it wasn't like that at all.

The walls were white. That was first strange things about it. The bed linens were green which wasn't so strange. But they were flannel and not silk as she had imagined. He had two large windows, one that led to balcony covered in pots of leafy plants.

He laid her down on the bed.

Still, in all this time, Riddle had not said a word to her. There was a pitcher of clear liquid on his paper-covered desk. He poured a glass and handed it to Hermione.

"Drink. It should help."

Hermione eyed him suspiciously. "What is it?"

"A powerful potion that will remove all your pain and make you impervious to Bellatrix's future curses."

She raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"

"It's water," he said, emotionless.

"Oh. Thanks." She took the glass from his hand and sipped.

"You're a better witch than her – how'd she manage to curse you?"

A lump grew in Hermione's throat. A confused lump. Riddle had just admitted to her being a good witch. Better than his most trusted servant, better than a pureblood Black. "I was distracted. I was trying to find Regulus."

"He's not here," said Riddle, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I've since discovered." Hermione let out a small laugh.

"What'd you need him for?"

"I have to go to the Ministry. I think they might have what we're looking for."

Riddle tucked a lock of hair behind Hermione's ear. "Next time. Look for me instead."

"If I asked Bellatrix where you were she would have killed me instead of tortured me," grumbled Hermione.

"You won't have to worry about her anymore."

Hermione's heart leapt. Was he getting rid of her? _Yeah right._

"I'm going to tell her that whatever she does to you. I'll do to her." His eyes met hers, sparking wildly.

She smirked, trying to break the tension. "Merlin, she's going to try to kiss me."

"I don't think that way about her. She knows that."

"Did you ever?" asked Hermione, not sure if she wanted the answer to whether or not Riddle had shagged Bellatrix, but there it was.

"I never thought of her the way I think of you."

_That's a yes._

"Oh."

"Does that make you jealous, pet?" His hand slipped under the edge of Hermione's blouse. His fingers hitting her skin were so rough, so calloused, so strong. She squeezed her eyes shut trying to push the power of his touch away. Impossible – he was too much.

"It just explains why she hates me so much."

He stood and walked to the window. The warm light illuminated his face, making him look much kinder than Hermione knew him to be. "Not since I met you."

"I didn't ask."

Riddle swallowed, his pronounced adam's apple, moving beautifully down his neck. "We should go to the Ministry."

Hermione licked her lips. "Okay."

Riddle slid up to her, his arms wrapping possessively around her waist. Hermione felt the weight and pressure of apparation press down on her, as Riddle swept her away in his arms.

They arrived in a back alley outside the Ministry. With his arm painfully tight around her waist, they slipped into the phone booth that led inside.

Wizards and witches bustled about the long grey corridor attending to their business. Even as they walked the distance to the main center of the Ministry, Riddle kept his vice like grip on Hermione as if he was afraid she would run away or she'd somehow disappear if his hand left her.

"Where do you need to go?" he asked.

"I need to look at the public records."

He nodded and turned smoothly to the left, directing her down a vacant hall.

"You sure know your way around the Ministry," said Hermione under her breath.

"Know your enemy, Miss Granger." He hissed in her ear. "It's a muggle saying. I'm sure you've heard it before."

She smiled weakly. _Know your enemy. _She was taking that saying to new heights. She certainly knew her enemy. Every curve of his body, every freckle on his skin, every scar on his hands and his back. There were plenty of scars. When she asked him about it, he said what he always said.

_Magic comes at a price._

Riddle finally let his arm slip from around her waist as he knocked two times on a nondescript door with a faded name plate.

"One moment please," said whoever was behind the door. A few seconds later, it opened revealing a small dingy room with large cobwebs hanging in the corner. "Can I help you?"

It was a young man. Hardly older than Hermione with thick rimmed glasses and honey colored eyes.

"My name is Hermione Granger and I need access to any public records you have on Merlin and anything from the years he attended Hogwarts."

The man's eyes widened. "Dr. Henry Dupont and that's quite the request."

Hermione was surprised. There were very few wizards who called themselves doctor. You had to achieve that title outside the wizarding world. And at such a young age... Hermione would be lying if she said she wasn't impressed.

Hermione stepped inside and Riddle followed. "You can do it though, right?"

"Yes, of course. I've read those records. Interesting information in there." Dupont flicked his wand and files and papers started coming out of drawers, rearranging themselves and then zooming into a stack on the desk.

"You just happen to have read the records we wanted? What's the chances of-" huffed Riddle.

Dupont looked down at his shoes then back up at Hermione. "I've read them all."

She bit back a smile and ignored the insolent look on Riddle's face. "Thank you, Dr. Dupont."

He scooped the files into his arms and slipped them into Hermione's, his warm eyes never leaving hers. She pressed her lips together, feeling awkward at Dupont's rather obvious display with Riddle so near.

"Call me Henry." He smiled kindly. "And come back anytime."

"Did I need to fill anything out for these?" she asked.

"Yes, I just need your name and your address. Sorry I forgot. I was... distracted." His round cheeks blushed and Hermione looked away. Henry extended a freshly-dipped quill. Riddle snatched it away and grabbed the register on the desk.

_Tom Riddle_

He wrote in his elegant script and then scribbled the address of Malfoy Manor. His fingers gripped into Hermione's arm and he dragged her from the office.

"What was that about?" snapped Hermione, pulling away from Tom. She knew exactly what it was about, but he had no right.

"You're lucky I don't go back in there and curse him until he can't remember his own name. Doctor Dupont, really! How pretentious."

"Because Lord Voldemort isn't pretentious at all."

"Don't say that name in public," he snarled.

"Hey everybody!" she shouted. "It's Lord Voldemort. Everybody look over here. It's Voldemort!"

One older man glanced in their direction then just shook his head and moved on.

"See no one cares."

"I'm taking you home. Now!" he shouted. When they were outside the Ministry wards, he apparated them back to Malfoy Manor. Directly into his bedroom.

Hermione sat down on the soft bed. Riddle started pacing the floor, his hands jammed into his pockets. His face burned bright red.

"What's wrong with you?" asked Hermione.

He paused then his scarlet eyes flashed to her. "I saw the way he looked at you. I saw-"

"Get over it, Riddle."

"No one gets to look at you like that. Nobody but me."

"You're being ridiculous. Why do you even care? It's not like I matter to you."

Riddle stopped dead. She thought he even stopped breathing. "Is that what you think?"

Hermione bit down on her lip. She wasn't in the mood to be made to feel stupid and used tonight. Anyway, she was the one using him. He was nothing more to her than an escape. "Yes."

"You're mine, Miss Granger. No one else gets to touch you, or kiss you, or look at you besides me."

Hermione laughed. A bad idea because he grabbed her arm and tossed her against the wall. She didn't care though. Her hand went to her wand. His hand went to his. "I belong to myself. Not to you and not to anyone else. I'm mine," she said.

He licked his dry lips then slipped his wand in his pocket. Hermione did the same thing, no longer feeling threatened. She knew him well enough to know when he was going to get angry enough to start using his wand.

Riddle kissed her. It came out of nowhere. It defied all laws of physics and magic. An inexplicable energy. It was a soft kiss, a warm one. There was life in it, a heart beat, lungs and blood. She kissed him back, not knowing what else to do. Not really caring. She might belong to herself but in these moments she wanted to drown in Riddle. Let him control her – just for a moment take the weight of the world from her shoulders.

"Lie down," he hissed.

Gripping his tie, she backed up against the bed and slid down on his flannel sheets.

"Take off your clothes," he growled against her ear, bringing his hot lips to her neck over and over and over until the world unraveled on the floor. Her fingers worked the buttons of her blouse and the zipper on her skirt and the clasp of her bra...

"Take off my tie," he said. His voice cold and calculated as his eyes lingered over her bare frame. Her heart thrumming in her chest, she reached to his tie and slipped it from his neck, breathing in his dark, familiar scent.

He took the tie from her and began wrapping it around her wrist and around the wooden bars of his headboard.

A lump erupted in her throat.

What was he – was she going to let him? She didn't know. Could she? Did she trust him? No of course not. But she trusted him in here. She trusted him with her. And she was so alone, so tired. Tired of working and fighting and controlling.

"R-riddle, I don't-"

"Hush, pet, and do as I say."

She bit on her lip and hesitated before nodding. Riddle slipped out of his own clothes and Hermione couldn't help but watch him as he slowly revealed every inch of his skin to her. He wasn't a perfect looking man – with his scars and his freckles and his lack of muscle definition – but he was thin and pale and lovely. A mystery, she thought to herself, a riddle.

As Riddle lay on top of her, her hands tied, unable to move, she thought of nothing but his touches and his kisses. But the universe shattering into small pieces, enough pieces for her to drown in. Pieces of him. She wanted to disappear into every touch, every lick of his tongue. He was a swirling abyss, a perfect way to shrink into non-existence.

Hermione was so busy, so tied up in Riddle, that she failed to notice her coin slip from the pocket in her skirt, glowing faintly with the image of the phoenix calling her home.

**Thanks for reading. This was a bit longer of a chapter for me. Anyway, I hope you liked seeing more of what's going on outside of Riddle and Hermione's relationship and also how that's going to get in the way of Hermione's work for the order. Please review and thanks for all the favorites and follows. I appreciate it and love hearing from everyone!**


	6. A New Traveler

Hermione did not wake until the following morning when the sunlight shone in through the dusty window of Tom Riddle's bedroom. It took a moment for her to register where she was. It wasn't until she felt the warm, sticky skin of Riddle's chest against her cheek that she discovered she'd slept all night, not only in his room, but in his arms.

Her heart jolted. They'd slept in the same bed together many times but they might as well have been alone. They'd never fallen asleep _together _before. Hermione tried to pry herself away from his grip but his elbow seemed locked.

"Riddle," she whispered, breathing against his ear. "Riddle. Wake up."

His eye lids fluttered then stretched back. He looked down at her, his eyes painted with early morning clouds. Riddle yawned.

"What?" he muttered against her hair.

"It's morning."

"Thank you for that riveting news." He groaned.

Hermione tried to push him away again but his arm was still locked. It was one thing to have sex with Riddle but she sure as hell was not going to cuddle with him.

She worked her hands up slowly to his chest and pushed him away. "It's kind of hard to breathe." It _was_ hard to breathe but not because he was holding her too tightly. It was because she had never been_ held _by Riddle before and had no idea how to feel about it.

"Care to join me in the shower?" asked Riddle, slipping out from under the covers. He leaned down as his feet smacked against the hard wood. "What's this?"

"What?" Hermione crawled to her knees and looked over his shoulder. Her breath caught in her chest. Riddle was holding the phoenix coin.

"Does this belong to you, Miss Granger?"

She swallowed. "Yes." Hermione reached out for the coin but Riddle tugged it away.

"How come I've never seen it before?"

"I just carry it with me. Old family heirloom."

_How could you be so stupid, Granger? Are you an idiot?_

"You're a mudblood."

Hermione hissed through her teeth at the word. Now wasn't the time, however, to get up in arms over it. "It's not my family heirloom. It's my friends. She gave it to me." She climbed off the bed and started dressing in the clothes she'd worn the night before.

"Why would your friend give you her family heirloom?"

_Figure out a lie – and figure it out quickly._

"It was my friend's grandmum's and she doesn't want her sister to know she has it. So she gave it to me for safe keeping until she wants it back."

Riddle narrowed his eyes, examining her. She felt exposed, not just because she was mostly naked, but because she was terrified he could tell she was lying. Then again, Hermione was in a constant state of falsity and he'd never seemed to notice.

"Dropping it on the floor doesn't seem like safe keeping."

Hermione paused, memories of last night returning to her in blurry flashes. "Well, things got a little out of control last night."

Riddle stood then swept over to Hermione, gripping her waist and bringing his lips to her ear. "I remember having excellent control last night."

Hermione's heart skipped a few times. A reaction she just couldn't help when Tom Riddle was near her. He bit down on her ear and placed the cold coin in her palm.

"Thought you were going to shower with me." He tugged on the buttons of her blouse.

"I never said that." She pushed his hands away.

His demeanor hardened. From melting to frozen in zero seconds. "Suit yourself." With that, he disappeared into his adjoining bathroom.

Breathing a sigh of relief that she had effectively lied to Riddle once again, Hermione glanced down at the coin. She let out a small gasp.

An embossed phoenix had appeared on the surface. It was time to go home. She was so anxious to leave that she almost left right then. Quickly, though, she realized she would have quite a lot of explaining to do if she arrived in her time with her shirt half untucked, missing one of her shoes, smeared make-up and sex hair.

Hermione considered hopping in the shower with Riddle but something about that felt awkward when she was about to go home and see Harry, Ron, Dumbledore, Lupin and everyone. Instead, she tiptoed out of Riddle's room and down the hall to hers where she changed into fresh clothes, fixed her make-up and brushed and pulled back her hair into a soft braid.

She pinched the coin between her thumb and her ring finger, feeling the magic prickle on her skin and breathed the incantation.

"_Arestus – Leavus – Ero – Exo."_

Heat and weight pressed down on her from every side, throwing her forward, drowning her in darkness, filling her lungs with burning, acidic liquid until she toppled onto the wood floor of the Grimmauld Place kitchen.

"Hermione!" Ron shouted as she blinked his face into view. He was kneeling in front of her offering a hand to stand up. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. Before she could say anything, she was being crushed in a tight hug.

It was strange being so close to Ron after being with Riddle. Strange to have somebody else's hands on her body other than his. Nobody else touched her back in that time. It was like the Death Eaters though they could catch her muggleborn-ness.

"I'm so glad you're back," he sighed.

"Me too," she said. Her eyes lifted to everyone else in the room. Suddenly, she felt strangely panicked. There were so many of them and they were all staring at her.

"Hi, guys." Her voice came out weirdly quiet.

Then she saw Harry, his bright green bespectacled eyes amidst the other onlookers. He pushed his way through the crowd and tackled her in a hug. As his arms wrapped around her, she realized that, for the time, it hadn't been her who initiated the hug.

He leaned into her ear and whispered. "Are you alright?"

She nodded automatically though she wasn't sure it was true. All she'd been wanting was to return here but everything felt different, off-kilter. Maybe it had something to do with changing the timeline though she wasn't doing any of the things that Dumbledore told her not to. (It was possible that he left out 'don't shag the Dark Lord' because he assumed it a non-issue). Hermione blinked, pushing back her worries so she could stay in the presence with her friends.

"So – why am I back?"

"Do you not want to be here?" Ron blurted.

"What are you talking about? Of course I want to be here." She looked at him in surprise.

Ron scratched his head. "I'm sorry, Hermione. You just seem... I don't know."

She didn't know either but she couldn't blame Ron for noticing that something was different about her.

"Where's Dumbledore?" she asked, hoping to change the subject.

"He'll be here later," said Mrs. Weasley. "Around supper."

An awkward silence settled over Grimmauld Place as everyone slowly scattered to return to their previous tasks.

"Come talk with me for awhile, Hermione." Ron took her hand and she tensed then relaxed. It had been so long since someone had just held her hand. That was something Riddle would never do. She laughed in her head at the thought.

Ron lead her to his bedroom upstairs. It was dim, there were clothes scattered on the floor and it smelled slightly of socks and sweat and boy.

"How have you been?" she asked, trying to make conversation but for some reason everything felt forced between them. She wasn't cheating on him, she reminded herself. They'd broken up long before she and Riddle... it just didn't work.

"I've missed you," he replied. Ron's hand lifted to her ear and tucked away a curl that had escaped her braid. "You look... beautiful."

She tried to get words to come out of her mouth but they stayed stuck in her throat like they were coated in honey. He cupped her cheek with his hand and leaned into kiss her. His lips were almost against hers when she shoved him back.

"Oh, Merlin. I'm sorry," he said.

"It's, uh, it's okay. I'm sorry. It's just... I can't right now, Ron. It's too much."

He bit his lip and Hermione remembered why she'd loved him so much. He was fun, he was light in the darkness. Still, it needed to stay over between them. And she was sleeping with Tom Riddle.

Ron let out a sad sigh. "I understand. Maybe someday."

Her lips stretched into a weak smile. "Maybe." Even as she said it, she knew it would never be true. It was over between them and one of these days Ron would have to accept it the way that she had.

Hermione avoided Ron the next few hours until Dumbledore arrived. She'd tried to talk to Harry but he was acting strange so she settled for a game of wizard's chess with Lupin.

When Dumbledore arrived, he had a scowl on his face and said nothing to anyone other than. "Miss Granger, I need to speak with you. Privately."

Her stomach lurched. It was irrational. There was no way he knew about her and Riddle. He couldn't possibly. So why was her heart thrumming so fast and her knees shaking? Trembling, she followed Dumbledore past the house elf heads to a dark empty bedroom.

"What is it?" Hermione's voice cracked.

His blue eyes lingered on her for a moment. "A change is going to be made when it comes to the mission."

She felt weirdly sick, panicky. Was he taking her off the mission? Was she never going to see Riddle again? Never taste his tongue against hers or feel his hands burn across her skin.

_What's wrong with you? Why is that even important?_

"You will no longer be alone in your travels."

Her muscles relaxed. At least she'd be going back.

_Wait- what?_

"What do you mean?"

His wrinkled fingers folded together as he looked over his moon shaped glasses. "I need a second source. One that can work outside the Death Eaters but still have access to you and your information."

Her head was spinning. Someone from this time – back in her time. The time where she was "screwing" Lord Voldemort.

_No. No. No._

"Who?" she asked, terrified for a moment that he was about to say Ron.

"Harry."

"Potter?"

"You know another Harry?" she heard Harry's voice from the shadows. She'd had no idea he'd been there. His arm wrapped around her shoulder.

"I coming with you. Aren't you excited, Hermione?"

Her eyes were wide, her whole body frozen. Some people in that time knew about her and Riddle. What if Harry found out? She'd lose her best friend. Anger billowed inside of her. How could she ever have been stupid enough to start anything with Riddle?

**A/N: Sorry for the lack of Tom/Hermione in this chapter. I promise that won't happen very often but I wanted to focus on the plot for this chapter - and yikes what do you think Hermione is going to do with Harry in her time? Thanks for reading. Please review!**


	7. Fated and Doomed

"We can't go back together."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, looking offended.

"I don't mean – I just mean. This will take me back to the Death Eaters and you can't just show up-"

Dumbledore let out a soft laugh. "Don't worry Miss Granger, Harry will be returning to a different location."

"What location?"

Dumbledore ran his fingers through his long beard. "Just as we were able to secure you a location within the Death Eater ranks, we were able to secure Harry a job in the Ministry."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, but knew better than to ask Dumbledore how. He never provided any worthwhile answers.

"Ready to go?" asked Harry.

Hermione gave him a half smile. "Are you? It's more disorienting than you'd think."

He nodded. "Anything to stop You-Know-Who," said Harry. It was still disorienting to hear him say You-Know-Who, but there was a trace on Voldemort's name in this time.

"Of course," breathed Hermione. "Anything to stop him." A thought entered her mind. "How will we know when to meet?"

Dumbledore just smiled, that infuriating twinkle in his eye. "Don't worry, Miss Granger. You'll see."

All this secrecy was testing her patience, but she didn't know what else to do. Besides, she was keeping the biggest secret of them all.

With that, she nodded once to Dumbledore and then to Harry. "See you soon." She grasped the coin in her hand and breathed the incantation that would take her back in time.

Intense pain wracked her body and she was back on the floor of her bedroom at Riddle's. Not a second had passed yet everything had changed.

Harry was here. Here where people knew about her and Riddle. Somehow it could get back to him. The only solace she had was that it had so far not gotten back to Regulus who had access to Dumbledore and possibly to Harry.

With a deep breath, she stood, resolved to find a way to stop seeing Riddle. In the back of her mind, she wondered just how long that resolve could last. And just what kind of temptation it could stand.

There was a knock at the door. Her heart leapt and lodged in her throat, making the words "Come in," difficult to say but she managed to get them out.

She tried to prepare herself for Tom, but when the door open, relief and strange excitement flooded her.

"Regulus!" she shouted and hurtled herself into his arms. He squeezed her back and she buried her head between his shoulder and his neck. Since they day they'd met she'd felt comfortable, at home, with Regulus.

"Hermione," he whispered against her hair. "That was quite a welcome."

"Oh," she breathed, stumbling backwards. Hermione looked up and Regulus was smiling, his dark eyes pulsing with a heat that was all his own. "Where have you been?" she asked, strangely out of breath.

"Dumbledore business."

She nodded. Dumbledore business was code for he couldn't talk about it.

"Did you want to accompany me to lunch?" he asked. "I was just going out."

Her mouth opened to say yes when memories of a very jealous Tom at the Ministry of Magic flashed back to her. "Um... I'd like to. But I'm not sure if I should."

His head tilted to the left under his black hair that made him look distinctly like Sirius had except younger and more clean-cut. "Why not?"

"It's – uh -" Oh, how could she possibly explain this without telling him – and she could never tell him. But he was looking back at her and her insides seemed to melt. She'd grown close to him and wanted little more than a relaxing afternoon with him.

"Regulus, Miss Granger," Tom's cold voice permeated the room. He looked around the corner, his gaze slowly trailing up her body. "If you're headed to lunch buy me something. The house elves are dreadful cooks." Running a hand through his brown locks, he leaned in the door frame. "And then I'd like Miss Granger to come see me about her research."

"Yes, sir," said Regulus and Hermione mimicked him. Tom nodded and disappeared into the hallway. Maybe Tom assumed that since Regulus was a pureblood Black he'd never consider Hermione in any way that was a threat to Tom.

"Guess you have to go to lunch with me now, Master's orders." Regulus winked and held out his arm so Hermione could link it with his. As their arms connected, a distinct warmness settled over her. Contentment. The one feeling Hermione never felt with Tom. He was an addiction, a drug. She always wanted more. Craved more. And, after it was over, she was left feeling hollowed out.

It was a rainy day, but Hermione had always liked the rain more than the sun. The sun was so intrusive, bright and overbearing. And the rain was just itself – cool and salty.

They sat down in a window booth at nearby cafe. Hermione ordered a salad and Regulus a turkey sandwich.

"You know who's here now?" she whispered not sure why she felt the need.

"Potter?"

Hermione's head bobbed up and down.

"Only a matter of time," said Regulus. "Dumbledore needs eyes everywhere."

Hermione let out an annoyed sigh. "If only we knew what he was planning."

"He has it under control," said Regulus, waving off her question.

"Are you sure?"

"Hermione-" His eyes were wide. Shocked.

"You can't tell me that it doesn't bother you."

Their voices raised.

"I trust him."

"Why doesn't he trust _us_?'

Regulus bit on his lip, his voice lowering. "He does. None of us would be here if he didn't trust us."

Hermione looked away, trying to shove down the anger but it kept fighting its way back up.

"If I just knew a little more... and then dragging me back there and dealing with Ron and now Potter's here." The words just spat from her mouth and she wasn't sure where they were coming from.

Regulus stared down at the table then looked back up at her. "I think you might be getting a little too comfortable here."

"What do you mean by that?" she snapped.

"I heard about the way you greeted your friends earlier... I figured you were just stressed, but then when you hugged me like that."

Hermione shot out of the booth, knocking her fork onto the floor. Her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Well excuse me, Regulus. I promise to never hug you again." She started to storm past him when a strong hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her back. She looked at him, his eyes were so open she was worried she would fall into them. His heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in his fingers.

"I didn't mean it like that." There was a softness to Regulus's voice that made her want to cry. Made her want to bury her face into his chest. Hermione tugged away. It was wrong for her to feel that way about him. And it was dangerous for him to look at her that way.

How could she be so worried about what she felt for Regulus when what she felt for Tom was so much worse? And so much _more_. Regulus was a cool comfort. Tom was a force of nature.

"Hermione, we can never... I don't even know we got here."

She grabbed the edge of the table. How did her feeling get so out of control? She knew Regulus well. She'd found him attractive since the day they met but he'd been gone for weeks. And with Riddle... she'd just forgotten what it was like to have someone look at you like he actually cared. It scared her. And that scared her even more.

"I'm going to order Tom a sandwich," she sighed then turned, realizing that she called Lord Voldemort by his first name in front of someone else. She waited for Regulus to call her on it but he said nothing.

She ordered Riddle's lunch then, in near silence, they walked back.

With shaking hands, she made her way to Riddle's room. She knocked on the door.

"It's me."

The door squealed open, revealing Riddle, his shirt halfway unbuttoned pacing back and forth across the floor. His cheeks were flushed and his ears bright red.

His eyes looked up at Hermione but he said nothing.

"I brought you a roast beef sandwich."

"Set it on my desk."

With a quick eye roll, Hermione did as he asked. "Is something wrong?"

Riddle let out a hard sigh. "No I just really like pacing the floor."

"How necessary is the sarcasm?"

"How necessary are lungs to your ability to breathe?"

Hermione stepped back. "Are you threatening me?"

"No," he answered quickly and, for the briefest moment, Hermione thought she'd seen hurt on his face.

She couldn't believe she was saying this. It was stupid. "Want to talk about it?"

He closed his eyes then opened them up slowly, glaring at her. "No."

"Did you want to talk about my research?"

Riddle smiled – Hermione thought the floor dropped out. It was a real smile. Gone as quickly as it came, but it had been there.

"I never had any intention on talking to you about research." In an instant he was across the room, his hand in her hair, his mouth on hers. She was melting in his fire, turning to ash under his touch. As his hands worked her clothes from her body, slowly, intimately, she couldn't help but return the gesture. What was she going to do? Push him away?

She could. He would let her go. He always had. It was the one thing she trusted him to do. But she didn't want to. There was no chance. No resolve. It didn't exist. When she was with him, she hardly existed.

As he pressed her down on the bed, lips on her neck, wild, feverish, her mind flashed to Regulus, to the look in his eyes and feel of his hand against her wrist. If she had it to do over again? Would she choose him? Was it even a choice?

It didn't feel like one as they kissed and kissed and kissed. It felt like something that just was. Hermione and Tom. Fated and Doomed.

Later, she was lying in bed beside Tom. He twisted her hair around his fingers possessively, her hand on his thigh.

There was a knock at the door and Hermione thought to sneak into the bathroom, but Tom grabbed her arm and held her to the bed.

"Come in," he said.

_Please don't be Regulus. Please don't be Regulus._

Hermione never thought she'd be happy to see Bellatrix, but she was. Bellatrix, however, did not share the sentiment. Her teeth gritted into an angry snarl, her hands clinched into fists.

"What is it, Bellatrix?" asked Tom, sitting up in the bed so the sheets fell around his pelvis as if he meant to show off. Hermione drew the blankets up to her chin.

Bellatrix's mouth opened and closed a few times as her gaze burned Hermione. "My Lord, both you and Miss Granger have a summons from the Ministry."

**A/N: Thanks for reading. I needed to finally bring Regulus into the story. Since he's the only one she can talk to about her own time, they do have a bit of a connection. You'll have to wait to see what the summons has to do with Harry :) Much more Tom in the next chapter. Please review :)**


	8. Vow

Riddle and Hermione dressed in near silence, picking up the clothes that had scattered around his bedroom the night before. Morning light filtered in through the windows, casting a warm glow place that would have been comforting if her heart hadn't been pounding so quickly.

"Do you know what this is about?" she asked, tucking her blouse into her skirt to make herself presentable.

Riddle adjusted his tie and looked at Hermione. She blushed.

"It could be anything." He shrugged.

"Anything? Really?" She put her hands on her hips. "It's probably about us sneaking into the Ministry library."

"Merlin's beard you're right," he said over-dramatically, a hand to his forehead. "Do you know what the penalty is for unauthorized library infiltration? Fifteen years in Azkaban dangling from the rafters by your toes."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'd stick to being evil, you'd never make it as a comedian."

"Come on, pet. Let's go see what those magical geniuses down at the Ministry want from us." Riddle grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards the door.

"And what if we do go to Azkaban?" she asked, her heart slamming her chest, her hands sweating heavily. Except she had the coin, she could escape – and leave him behind.

Riddle pulled open the door. "I'd break us out, we both know that."

_Break _us_ out_, she thought, _not just himself_. He would take her too.

Hermione bit her lip to hide her smile. She hated when he'd show a flicker of kindness. It made her think maybe there was some good in him after all. That was impossible – a lie that could get her killed.

Rain misted the sky, leaving a sad, grey haze over the city buildings. With her hands in the pockets of her red overcoat, Hermione walked down the bustling London street, Tom Riddle at her side.

They arrived at a phone booth in an alley – the very same one that would still be in this spot fifty years from now. It felt like walking in parallel universes as she followed Riddle inside the small space, pressing against his back.

In a few seconds, they lowered into the ground. Hermione chewed her fingernails as she stepped into the busy, underground world.

The Ministry of Magic. All shimmery grey brick and green glowing windows. Wizards of all sorts bumbling about, magic zipping around. The place buzzed with it – that magic. The only place Hermione could feel that power more was at Hogwarts.

"Mr. Riddle, Miss Granger," a wheezy voice called from somewhere in the crowd of Ministry workers. A short, spindly old man with a pointed beard and hat approached them.

"Yes, that's us," said Riddle with his charming smile that had fooled people most of his life. "Why have you asked us here?"

The old man laughed then coughed. "I didn't ask you here. The Minister did. I'm just his assistant. Well for one more week then, I'm just training my replacement."

"Harry, over here, boy."

Hermione couldn't remember how to breathe. Her body no longer had any idea how to convert carbon dioxide into oxygen.

There he was. Just feet in front of her, a neutral expression on his face. Messy hair, round glasses. Lightning scar.

This was Harry Potter, in her time, standing there. She knew he was really here, but this was crazy. Working for the Minister and summoning them here. Riddle's hand was on the small of her back, a little too low. They were standing too close. Instinctively, Hermione stepped away from Riddle. He didn't react.

"Follow us," said Harry with a fake smile. "How'd you like to meet the Minister of Magic?"

Riddle leaned over and whispered in her ear. "Bet you wish it was the library now."

"_Shut it._"

Hermione and Riddle followed Harry deeper into the Ministry of Magic. To a place that Hermione had never been before in either time. The Minister of Magic's office.

It was a circular room with large curved windows and thick green velvet drapes. An ornate desk rested in the center of the room on a plush golden carpet. There were two house elves at each side of the room, standing at attention. The Minister came out of a door Hermione hadn't seen until it opened.

The Minister was thin man in a long blue cloak. He had shoulder length white hair that receded at the temples. His skin was too pale to be healthy and dark rings circled his eyes. He looked like a man who had not slept in days.

"Mr. Riddle, Miss Granger?" asked the Minister, who wasted no time on other pleasantries, and no time acknowledging Harry.

"Yes, sir." Riddle extended his hand. The Minister regarded Tom's thin hand then quickly shook it. "How can we be of service?"

Every time Riddle spoke, he radiated confidence, leadership, more so than the Minister of Magic, who just looked beaten down and ragged. If Lord Voldemort had really been as smart as he claimed, he could have taken the Ministry legally, with his charm alone.

"You both come with the highest recommendation." The Minister walked behind his desk, skirting Tom's question.

"Excuse me sir, " Hermione cleared her throat. "But by whom?"

The old man let out a little breath of impatient air as he searched through a stack of parchment.

"Albus Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore?" Riddle's voice nearly squeaked. It was the first time she'd ever heard him sound surprised. Not that he could blame her. Dumbledore had never liked Riddle, even when he was just a boy at Hogwarts.

"You were the best in your year at Hogwarts, were you not, Mr. Riddle?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you, Miss Granger, the best in your year as well?"

Hermione nodded. She wasn't quite sure how Dumbledore had done it, but he must have fixed it so it seemed she'd gone to school there a few years back. There was some magic of Dumbledore's that frightened her. She didn't want to know how he could have that much influence, especially at this time.

"Minister, excuse me, but this still doesn't answer my question. What would you have Miss Granger and myself do?"

"I'd like to offer you jobs."

Riddle glanced at Hermione, cold fire in his eyes. "I cannot speak for Miss Granger, but I was offered employment at the Ministry upon my graduation from Hogwarts. I turned it down then and I'm afraid my opinion of government work has not changed."

The Minister expelled a curt laugh. "This would not be government work of the usual sort. It is, however, something that requires your _particular _set of skills."

Tom swallowed hard. "I'm not sure what you-"

"It will do no good to deny it, Mr. Riddle. Your reputation precedes you."

Riddle's face hardened, his body tensed. The illusion of blue in his eyes melted just enough to see a frosty red peeking through. "Then I'm not sure what you think you could offer me to accept such a position."

Minister drew his back straight and looked from Hermione to Riddle, his gaze coming to rest on Tom. "You're looking for something, are you not? Something vital to your agenda. It's why you've allied yourself with Miss Granger, as she is a research and magical history expert."

Riddle crossed his arms and did not answer. "Yes, I did. And I believe she is perfectly capable of discovering the answer herself." He placed a hand on Hermione's back. Heat enveloped her limbs, either from the touch or his complement. "Let's go."

"Wait." Hermione planted her feet firmly. "We should let him finish."

"Very wise, Miss. You two do make a smart team."

Hermione glanced at Harry whose expression was unreadable. What could he possibly think of all this?

"I have the information you seek, Mr. Riddle. If you do this favor for me, I will turn over the information to you. Simple as that."

It didn't make sense. What could the Minister of Magic want that was more important than keeping Riddle from that information? Especially if the Minister knew of Riddle's affinity for dark magic.

Harry stared right at Hermione, eyebrows raised. He was still her best friend and she could tell he was urging her on.

"What you need? It requires dark magic. That's why you've brought us here."

"Yes."

Hermione paused, thinking over what had just happened. "This isn't official Ministry business, is it? This is personal."

He grinned. "You are extremely bright, Miss Granger."

"We'll do it."

"_What?" _Tom looked like he was about to crucio everything, including her, but he just stood stiff, hands clinched at his side, and glared at Hermione.

She huffed, pulled out her wand and cast, "_Muffliato."_

"Miss Granger, have you lost your mind? I can't work for the Ministry!" shouted Riddle.

"It's not really working for the Ministry. You heard him, it's personal. It's a surefire way to get what your looking for."

"How do we even know for sure he knows what we're looking for?"

Hermione looked Tom straight in the eye. "I don't know. I just know."

The truth was she was pretty sure Dumbledore had figured it out, maybe even told Harry. It was a surefire way for Hermione to get what Dumbledore wanted her to get to, which was of course the reason she was doing it.

"Fine," he snarled.

Hermione broke the spell, then turned to the Minister. "I apologize. We needed to confer in private." She smiled.

"I understand. You'll do it?"

"On one condition."

The Minister looked impatient, but replied. "What is that?"

Riddle smirked. "I must have assurance beside your simple word that you will live up to your end of the bargain as we live up to ours. I require an unbreakable vow."

The old man jolted backwards. "Absolutely not!"

"If you have no intention on cheating me and my...partner...then you should have no problem with making the vow."

He gritted his teeth together, narrowed his eyes and gave us a both a terrible, hate-filled sneer. "As you wish."

After the Minister and Tom completed the vow, the Minister said he'd send Harry along in a few days with more instructions about where they were to go and what they were to do. Hermione was worried, but glad that she had something more concrete to follow.

The hall in Malfoy Manor was dark as she headed to her bedroom. She gasped. Riddle caught her from behind, his hands gripping her hips. He leaned in and breathed in her ear.

"It wasn't about the library. I was right."

"Yes, good job." Hermione rolled her eyes as she squeaked open the bedroom door and flicked on the light. It cast a soft glow in the hall. When she turned around, she could see the planes and angles of Tom's handsome but icy face as he looked down at her. He ran his hands over her cheeks and wound his fingers in her hair.

He slammed her hard against the wall and pressed himself against her. His mouth went to her neck, trailing down her skin like the tip of a match. "You were great today, Hermione. I think this will be a good opportunity for us."

"Us?" Hermione scoffed. "There is no us. I'm helping you as a favor."

Tom just laughed. "Whatever you say, Pet."

He was kissing her everywhere. The tips of each fingers. Down her arms to the soft space on the inside of her elbow. His lips met her shoulders and then her collar bone. Along her chin, the apples of her cheeks, the freckles around her eyes.

Her heart was pounding, she could hardly bear it. She wanted his hands on her. Mostly she wanted his lips, his tongue. A kiss. The hard, intoxicating, wild thing that was a kiss from Tom Riddle.

Still he kept moving painfully slow across her skin.

"What are you doing?" Hermione breathed out the words, hardly in control of her own mouth.

"Driving you crazy."

Her hands gripped his hair and she yanked his face up from where it was kissing her abdomen under her pushed up sweater. "Kiss me, Tom. Please."

She saw his teeth flash in the dim light then his mouth was on hers, just as hard and fast as she loved. He bit her lip and pulled it. Her hands were on the buttons of his shirt, furiously working it off. She wanted to see his pale skin and sharpness of his bones.

Hermione was so determined, she'd forgotten all about where they were standing as Tom pushed her sweater over her head and tossed it on the floor. His cold hands were on her bra clasp when she gasped at a shadow down the corridor.

"Hermione?" It was Regulus Black.

**A/N: Wow - sorry it's been so long. Life had been crazy and I've been updating other fics. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this. If you have a chance, leave a review. I love to know what you think.**


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